Lord Voldemort stepped out of the destroyed window after Potter and drifted to the ground.

The boy was still writhing where he'd landed. Though his taste of the Cruciatus Curse was well-deserved, Lord Voldemort only held it for another few moments.

Potter went still, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air, eyes distant as if he couldn't see properly yet. Eventually, they refocused on Lord Voldemort. Potter shuddered - an after-effect of the curse, no doubt - and pushed himself up onto shaky forearms, jaw clenched.

Defiant to the last.

He jabbed his wand and had the boy writhing again for a few seconds, and then released him. Potter vomited.

Lord Voldemort curled his lip. He was furious - with Potter for spurning his offer, and with himself for thinking the boy might accept it, or at least be willing to give it the consideration it deserved, not to mention the time he'd spent priming Potter, and working out what he was going to say, how he'd win the boy over...

And Potter had responded with a killing curse. Lord Voldemort would never have believed him capable of it - and he wasn't, not really, and even if he had been, Lord Voldemort would not have truly died - but the fact that he'd even made the attempt was-

He snarled silently and magic crackled at the tip of his wand.

Potter would have had such potential in Lord Voldemort's ranks… Talented, resourceful, adored by the wizarding world - the perfect tool to facilitate a smooth transition into power. Lord Voldemort had spent months instilling a fear of loss into Potter in the hope that it would make his decision easy, that he would leap at any chance to save his friends and family. Still, he'd known an immediate conversion was too much to hope for, but a Potter that wasn't actively out to thwart him was a harmless Potter, a useful one; as Lord Voldemort's diary-self had discovered, Potter was tying him to immortality. And so he'd been prepared to give Potter time to think, to question, to slowly turn against Dumbledore, or to grow desperate enough that he realised Lord Voldemort was his best option.

And instead he'd got this.

"It seems you've chosen death," Lord Voldemort said, and couldn't deny that, despite the disappointment and the inconvenience, there was part of him that looked forward to Potter's death, to closure in this terrible chapter of his existence. He raised his wand and slowly, carefully, summoned a thin tongue of Fiendfyre - a fiery serpent - to burn the Walpurgis insignia from Potter's vest. Potter gasped and squirmed and Lord Voldemort let the spell linger even once the crest was gone, letting it burn through his other layers - which it did, easily - letting it hurt him. Lord Voldemort could smell burning flesh. Potter breathed heavily and unsteadily through his teeth, eyes screwed shut with pain, but was wise enough to hold still.

Lord Voldemort left his arm as it was, liked the idea of them eventually finding Potter's body with that there, and the horror and panic and confusion it would bring.

"Get up," he said.

"Can't we do it here?" Potter asked. He was still trembling a little, and there was pain in his voice. "Saves us moving."

Lord Voldemort dearly wanted to, didn't want to drag it out a moment longer, but his Death Eaters would likely have seen or heard the window breaking and know something had happened. They would never question Lord Voldemort's version of events... Not aloud. But they would wonder, perhaps even doubt him if he did not demonstrate his defeat of Potter. He would need them to witness this.

"Imperio," he said. "On your feet."

He watched with satisfaction as Potter did, getting smoothly off the ground when before he'd barely been able to sit up.

Lord Voldemort directed the boy back to the graveyard. The Death Eaters watched them with unabashed curiosity, perhaps taking in Potter's decidedly worse condition.

"My Champion has decided he no longer wants the title," Lord Voldemort said. He flicked his wand at the base of the reaper statue. "Kneel." Potter didn't even twitch:

"I'd rather die on my feet, if it's all the same to you," Potter said tightly, and his eyes were too present, too independent. The Death Eaters were exchanging glances.

And though Lord Voldemort would have declined the offer and they likely knew it, no one offered to kill or punish Potter for his insolence. They were waiting to see what Lord Voldemort did, how he responded to disrespect. His new initiates would be taking his measure, comparing the stories they'd heard to Lord Voldemort in the flesh.

"Crucio," Lord Voldemort snarled. Potter didn't scream, but he did drop to his knees, quivering under the spell. Lord Voldemort released him after a moment. And, yet, no one's eyes were on Lord Voldemort, with awe, or fear, or- or anything.

Every single Death Eater was watching Potter.

Lord Voldemort had done this, he realised. He had trained the world to watch Potter this year, and trained Potter to be comfortable under scrutiny; even now, he did not look scared or uncomfortable, just resigned, as if this were another task in the Tournament he was being forced to compete in. They had come to expect great things from Potter and Lord Voldemort had allowed it, encouraged it, even, because he'd expected Potter to join him, them.

They were yet to see Potter lose. And, they were yet to see Lord Voldemort prove that he was what he had once been.

"Give Potter his wand, Wormtail."

A murmur went through the Death Eaters, but Lord Voldemort was only watching Potter, who blinked. Surprise then exhaustion flickered over his scratched and bloody face, but Potter accepted his wand when Wormtail offered it to him and pushed himself slowly and gingerly to his feet.


Cedric had been gone for only a few seconds before Albus could no longer ignore the increasing evidence that something was very wrong indeed.

The Cup-portkey had thrown him at first, because that wasn't how they'd been told the task would go; the Champions were - as poor Olympe was so displeased about - supposed to have carried the Cup back through the maze, picking up crests along the way. For any of the Champions aside from Harry, that was the only way they would be able to win.

Albus had been pleased for Cedric, and a little concerned with the situation generally - there'd been two lots of red sparks but Cedric was the first Champion to have left the maze - and then he'd been momentarily sidetracked by William tinkering with the Cup…

But then he'd realised that regardless of whether it had been part of the task or not, accident or not, any portkey that could successfully move through Hogwarts' wards undetected - because he'd not felt any disturbance in them at all - was cause for significant concern.

Albus himself could design a portkey able to get into and out of Hogwarts, but to his knowledge, no one else had the ability. No one else, not even Minerva, understood the wards well enough, or had such a talent with portkeys…

But Albus - and Sirius - had long suspected and worried that Barty Crouch Junior could.

Was Cedric involved, somehow? Had something gone wrong or right for him to have ended up holding a portkey that could get into Hogwarts undetected?

"I'm going to check on Cedric," Albus said, and stood without waiting for a response from his fellow judges, snagging the Cup from the table in front of William as he went. Olympe was arguing and theorising with an increasingly flustered Cornelius while Damaris attempted to mediate, though it was clear she had no more idea than Cornelius himself. Igor was sitting unusually quietly; usually he seized any opportunity to cause a scene over a perceived slight, and like Olympe, he had a right to be indignant over the Cup. But Albus could not worry about that now:

He strode right into the tent and called for Cedric, but Poppy was the only one there, sitting restlessly on a wooden chair in one of the tent's canvas rooms.

"Headmaster?" Her eyes flicked over him and then the Cup.

"Where is Cedric?" Albus asked.

"Not here," she said. "Has he come out of the maze? Was that what all that cheering was before-? Headmaster-?"

But Albus held up the hand holding the Cup to quieten her and conjured a pair of patronuses:

"I need you at the Champion's tent, urgently," he said, and sent them off. Barely a moment later, bright lights flared outside the tent and he heard his own voice repeat the message.

"Who did Ginny Weasley bring to you for treatment at the end of last year?" he asked Poppy. Poppy looked confused and then exasperated:

"If by who you mean what," she said, "it was a cat." Albus relaxed and Poppy clicked her tongue. "Not my strangest patient, but probably the most-"

"We were already on our way," Remus said, stepping into the tent with Sirius on his heels. "Sirius wanted to speak to Cedric, ask if he'd seen Harry-"

"He had, recently, or so he said," Albus said, waving a frowning Poppy back into her part of the tent. Sirius brightened a little at news of Harry and looked around expectantly, doubtless ready to prise more details from Cedric. "Cedric himself has since disappeared, however. I thought he was coming here but Poppy hasn't seen him..."

"Is he with friends, or his family?" Remus asked, as Albus began to trace his wand over the walls of the tent's entranceway.

"He arrived back by portkey - the Cup - as I'm sure you both saw. A portkey that can access Hogwarts." Sirius nodded and he tugged the portkey away from Albus and began casting diagnostics and tracing charms. "Cedric was coming to fetch a jumper and have Poppy look at his arm… he had perhaps a thirty second head start before I came after him…" Albus lowered his wand; the tent had revealed nothing.

"This isn't registering as a portkey," Sirius said, flicking the metal of the Cup. "This isn't even registering as magical." Wordlessly, Albus reached out a hand and cast his own detection and tracing spells, but none returned anything of use or significance; Sirius was right.

But it had been a portkey, had visibly acted as one, not even five minutes before. They knew it had been one. And the only reason it would not show that, was if it had been designed to erase its traces - but then there would still be magic on and around it, just of a different sort - or if those traces had been removed.

And the only people who had had access to it since it had been used as a portkey were Cedric, William, Sirius, and Albus himself.

"I'll rule you out if you'll rule me out," Sirius said, mind clearly working along the same line as Albus'. Albus nodded without hesitation; Remus had arrived with Sirius and would either have been able to tell or smell if he was an imposter, not to mention Sirius looked awful - stressed and scared, and only just keeping it together. That sort of thing could not be faked. "Who else has had it? Cedric, obviously-"

"William Pemberley," Albus said, and Sirius turned on his heel and marched out of the tent, wand in hand. Remus and Albus exchanged a look and hurried after him, Albus readying his own wand...

But for nothing:

"Where's Pemberley?" Sirius demanded of the other judges. William's seat sat as empty as Albus'.

"Black," Cornelius said, looking both relieved for the interruption to Olympe's ire, and a bit angry, "this area is for judges and Champions-"

"Where is he?" Sirius repeated, looking at Damaris.

"He left just after you did, Albus, saying he needed to check something," she said, frowning. "But I must second the Minister's point-"

"Headmaster." Severus had arrived, face pale and expression as grim as Albus had ever known it to be.

"Albus, this is the judges' table, not a staff meeting," Damaris said, sounding quite exasperated now. "And where is- Prewett!" Auror Prewett hurried over from her place at the base of the stands. "Find William, would you, and Diggory."

Severus caught Albus' eye and deliberately rested his hand on his left forearm. Albus frowned, and then Severus inched his sleeve up, just enough for Albus to see black beneath it, as black as pitch, or ink.

There was light pressure on Albus' mind - familiar pressure - and he allowed it, then:

The Dark Lord has returned, Severus said.

"No," Sirius whispered, and Remus went white, then moved to grip Sirius' shoulder; Albus realised Severus had spoken to all three of them.

"The task is over," Albus said, setting the Cup down on the judging table. He conjured another pair of patronuses. "I want Harry, Miss Delacour, and Mr Krum removed from the maze, immediately," Albus said.

"Already trying, sir." Albus recognised Marlene's voice, from on Sirius' person.

"You- what, no!" Fudge flapped a hand at the patronuses as they streaked away. Olympe made a noise of protest, but Igor nodded with what looked like relief; his arm would have burned too, Albus realised. It certainly explained his silence. "See here, Dumbledore, you can't just cancel the task and pull the Champions out before they're ready! This has been planned for months-"

"Cedric Diggory returned from the maze using a portkey that is not meant to exist and should not have worked," Albus said. "He is now missing. Severus, gather Minerva and Hagrid and the others; find Willliam Pemberley, and get the others out of the maze." Severus nodded and hurried away.

"Missing?" Sprottle spluttered. "But he was just-"

"Dumbledore, it's not been five minutes," Cornelius said. "He's probably with his friends, or parents, or sneaked off to see his girlfriend-"

"We have seen sparks but not found who cast them," Albus continued. "I fear something has gone very wrong in the maze." It could not be a coincidence that Tom had chosen tonight. Either Cedric was involved, or he'd seen something at the heart of the maze, something they might need to know, even if he did not understand its significance. Regardless, he had information they needed, and could not be allowed to fall into William Pemberley's hands.

Crouch's hands, Albus was now certain.

"If you end ze task now, your Champion wins!" Olympe said furiously. Remus snapped something at her in French, too quick and sharp for Albus to catch it, and her eyes widened. She watched Remus for a few moments, then abruptly, pushed back her chair and stood.

"We shall retrieve Fleur," she said hoarsely. She turned to shout at a cluster of older Beauxbatons girls in rapid French, and they scrambled out of the stands to flank their Headmistress without hesitation, though they looked confused. "And 'Arry, if we find him." The little group disappeared into the hedges, Hagrid jogging to catch up with them.

"I must ask you to find Cedric," Albus said, turning to Sirius and Remus.

Remus looked angry and a bit incredulous, but Sirius did not; the look on his face broke Albus' heart.

"I know what I am asking," he said, drawing them a little further away from Cornelius, Igor, and Damaris. He was asking a parent to abandon his own child to find another. He was asking them to put Harry second and Cedric first. "And I wish I did not have to. But you heard Severus' news." Albus' voice caught and he cleared his throat, pushed on, because that was his role in all this, to lead. He could not pause to wonder, to worry, to grieve. "If Harry is in the maze and can be helped, those already within the maze will do so." Fawkes was still circling above, would be able to reach him if he was found, and heal him or any of the others, should they need it. "If Harry is- beyond help-" Albus hated himself for saying it, but knew they were all thinking it - had to be, given what Severus had said. "-or if he has been removed from the maze-" Because if there was a portkey that could move within Hogwarts' wards, or enter Hogwarts' wards, then it stood to reason that one could also leave them. "-then we shall need to know what Cedric knows if we are to have any hope of finding him… or understanding what happened."

Whether it was because he knew Albus was right, or because he knew Harry would want Cedric found and protected, or simply because he needed something to do, Sirius didn't argue; looking drawn and ancient, he folded into Padfoot. His ears were flat against his skull, and his tail tucked between his legs, but he put his nose to the ground and loped away, disappearing into the increasing activity at the edge of the maze.

Remus opened his mouth, closed it, then swallowed and turned to jog after him.

"Igor-"

"I'll have Viktor found," Igor said. He stood and moved, hunch-shouldered, over to the nearest Durmstrang stand and one of the other Dumstrang instructors. After a short exchange, a handful of Dumstrang students lit their wands and entered the maze, Filius and Kingsley in tow. Igor did not enter with them.

"Headmaster, what is going on?" Damaris demanded. "Where is William, and-"

"If I knew, I would be considerably more at ease," Albus said. "I believe William is not William and is in fact, Barty Crouch Junior."

"He- what?" Damaris shook her head, disbelieving.

"I believe he is either with or on his way to Cedric, who is almost certainly involved, though I could not say whether his involvement has been willing or not-"

"Involved in what?!" Cornelius spluttered.

"Lord Voldemort has been restored to power tonight," Albus said. "I do not know where, or how, and until we have Cedric and Pemberley, or Harry-"

"Potter's involved now?!" Cornelius cried. "Dumbledore, this is madness! You Know Who, returned? How can you possibly know that?!"

Albus was spared from answering by Nymphadora, who hurried over with Bill and Alastor, tripping at the last moment on a clump of grass. Alastor steadied her without looking.

"What can we do to help?" she asked. "I brought Bill-"

"Excellent thinking," Albus said. "Alastor, can you coordinate any Aurors you can find - we'll leave everyone in the stands for now, but they may need protection. Others can brave the maze and assist with the search."

"They'll still listen to me if they know what's good for them," Alastor said, nodding. "At least until Robards arrives and reminds them I'm retired." He limped off at speed, back the way he'd come.

"Bill, can you remove the enchantments on the maze? The extension and distortion charms, the silencing charms, and the charms protecting and concealing the centre of it - it will make things considerably easier for those searching within it."

"Are they tethered or perimeter enchantments?" Bill asked, looking between Damaris and Albus. Damaris looked at Cornelius and the maze, expression torn.

"Damaris," Albus said, "I shall not compromise the safety of my students or my guests. This task is at an end. If you will not aid me in ensuring no further harm, I will at the very least ensure you do not deliberately or otherwise cause more."

"Dumbledore," Cornelius spluttered, "are you threaten-"

Damaris snapped her mouth shut, however, and stood: "The enchantments are tethered to each of the crest plinths," she said. "It ensures equal coverage. Brown!" Auror Brown hurried over. "Give - I assume you're a Weasley-" She eyed Bill and he nodded. "Give him your vest. It'll make the hedges part for you, Weasley - head for the corners. Will you need Brown?"

"Nymphadora, will accompany him," Albus said. Bill pulled on the vest and the pair of them stepped toward the maze.

"William-" Bill made a strange face, then seemed to realise she was not talking about him. "-was involved. If what you said-" Damaris looked uneasily at Albus. "-is true, then he might have put things in place to stop them from being easily removed."

"Things are my specialty," Bill said, with a weary grin. He nodded at Albus and then he and Nymphadora disappeared into the nearest hedge.


"Bow to me, Harry," Voldemort said. "You know the formalities, I'm sure." Voldemort had bent ever so slightly, but kept his face raised and watching Harry. "Come, Harry… bow to death."

A whisper of amusement rippled through the assembled Death Eaters, and a small, cruel smile lingered on Voldemort's face.

Harry met his gaze squarely, curled his fingers more tightly around his wand - he'd thought he was dead, could not believe Voldemort had returned his wand - and bowed as much as his ribs would allow - or rather, as much as he could tolerate despite his ribs. The skin around Voldemort's eyes tightened slightly and he straightened.

Harry copied him, shaky from the Cruciatus, and barely able to breathe through the fire in his side.

"And now we duel," Voldemort said softly.

Ostendere me omnia, Harry thought, unwilling to give himself away by tapping his glasses or even moving his wand. The brightness of it dazed him; he'd known from being unable to apparate at the house that there were anti-apparition wards up, but there were others too, dazzlingly complex - anti-portkey wards maybe, and perhaps modifications to both of those wards that would let the Death Eaters through anyway. There were probably spells to keep muggles - and others - away, or alarms, or whatever else. Most of them were a deep grey-blue but there was an occasional tangle of rust-coloured magic. And, of course, there were the gleaming masses of Voldemort and his Death Eaters - Voldemort in green, silver, and black, Wormtail's quivering, rust-coloured magic, and then all the other Death Eaters; silvers and greens and bronze and black were well-represented, but there were reds and golds and yellows and purples and blues and all the other colours of the rainbow, too. It was not quite Hogwarts bright, but it was close.

Harry stumbled and scrunched his eyes shut, but could still see the imprints of light on the inside of his eyelids.

Voldemort laughed.

"So afraid to gaze upon your destruction, Harry?"

The Death Eaters jeered, and then Harry wrenched his eyes open without meaning to; something had just caught him in the shoulder and flung him back into the nearest tombstone. Blows rained down on him, and he'd experienced something like this before, last year, from Hydrus, but where that had felt like he was being hit, this felt like he was being kicked - a bludgeoning curse instead of a bludgeoning hex.

One of the blows - not invisible like last time, because he could see the magic - landed on his injured ribs and Harry gasped.

The next hit the knee of his injured leg and hurt so much it made him feel sick, and the next hit his shoulder again, wrenching it the wrong way, and then-

Finite, he thought desperately. Voldemort's spell stopped, as did Harry's magical vision; everything went dark and blurry and streaky, as it had the last time he tried it at Hogwarts. He gritted his teeth and thought Ostendere me omnia, then winced as the light came flooding back.

"Fulmenium," Harry said. He let it charge much longer than he had for the spider, and then golden lightning arced from his wand, crackling towards Voldemort. Voldemort swatted it away, and there was a yelp from one of his Death Eaters - a deep, burnt orange and black - and the ripple of a shield charm and a bright flash and more yelping as Harry's lightning crackled against it.

And then the spells were flying; Voldmort's wand flashed and glowed and Harry did his best to keep up - a shield charm here, a dodge there, a bit of the shattered cauldron to intercept a curse there… and, of course, a failed dodge because of his ribs or leg here, reflexes that were too slow there, a shield charm that just wasn't strong enough there…

Voldemort was toying with him, Harry knew, proving he was stronger, better, defeating Harry before he killed him.

And Harry had no choice but to let him, needed time to properly squint into the wards for a hole because that was the only chance he'd have to get out of this alive.

Another cutting curse slipped past him, catching him in the side. His vest - the vest Voldemort had given him, in fact - stopped the sharpness of it, but Harry still gasped at the impact.

And then, as Harry flung a desperate Expelliarmus, Voldemort fired off his first killing curse and the spells collided, crackled, and exploded.

It wasn't an explosion of force or heat, but of light - Harry flinched, unable to look but unable to look away - and music; a thin strand of gold rushed into his wand tip at the same time as one streaked back to Voldemort, connecting them both. Harry's wand quivered in his hand- hands; he wrapped his second hand around his first, partly to make sure he didn't drop it - because something told him that he must not stop this, whatever it was - and partly to try to steady it; the vibration of it was unbearable on his ribs.

From the golden link between their wands came the eerie croon of phoenix song.

The green, silver and black sparks that was Voldemort shifted, and the thread between them wavered, as if he was trying to break it.

"Do not interfere," Voldemort hissed, as the colourful shapes around them shifted. Harry doubted anyone could have even if they'd wanted to; streaks of light were flickering out of the strand, creating a bit of a perimeter around Harry and Voldemort; one of the Death Eaters stepped forward and was struck by it, then staggered back into the arms of another.

Harry held tight and squinted up at the sky; there would be no better chance for him, no better distraction. Above them, Wormtail's magic and the slate-blue writhed and shifted like snakes, but was as neatly and tightly knitted as one of Mrs Weasley's jumpers.

Harry sank to his knees as his wand trembled, unable to stay upright anymore, but not willing to let go. There were balls of molten white-gold forming along the connection now, sliding along the thread toward him and his wand shuddered.

What if it broke, he wondered? What if his wand shattered and broke as James' had earlier?

He pushed back, not physically, or even mentally, but magically, almost the same way as he'd caught and redirected the lightning from those eels in the third task. Only this time, he directed it back the way it had come, and watched with relief and amazement as the balls of light slid back toward Voldemort.

Voldemort's wand began to scream and flash, and Harry saw shapes - slashes of colour, explosions, gleaming skulls, a silvery hand - more shrieks and whimpers, a flash of sickly green and then a ghostly figure.

He couldn't see the Death Eaters' faces through the brightness of his magical vision - especially not now - but he could see hers perfectly.

Lily had no magic of her own, and yet seemed to be constructed of magic itself, a soft green and gold, like a sunrise, but he could see the brightness of her green eyes - so like his - and the vibrant auburn of her hair. He knew immediately, instinctively, that this was different to the times he'd seen her bloom from the locket, that there was nothing to fear from this Lily, who'd arrived amidst phoenix song.

She stepped out of Voldemort's wand and didn't give him a second glance, eyes on Harry alone.

"Your father's on his way," she said, and gave him a gentle, sad smile as she knelt beside him on the grass. Her voice echoed ever so slightly.

James joined them a moment later, red and gold, impossibly bright, the sunset to Lily's sunrise, and Harry could see his face too, the dark untidiness of his hair, and the laugh lines around his hazel eyes, though he didn't look amused now.

Unlike Lily, he did spare Voldemort a look, but only fleetingly; Voldemort was still fighting with his wand, which screamed occasionally over the phoenix song, and other figures were blooming from it now, distracting him, taunting him.

For a few long moments, James looked at Wormtail, whose rusty mass shrank and whimpered, and then James resolutely put his back to them both and gave Harry a soft look.

Harry looked at them both and could only think of how they'd died for him, died because of him-

"None of that, kiddo," James said. His voice had the same echoey quality as Lily's. "We made our choice, and I'd make the same one every time."

Lily, take Harry and go-

Not Harry, please-

Harry's eyes stung with tears and he shook his head.

"You're doing so well, Harry," Lily said.

"Hold on a little longer." James' knelt beside Harry, hand brushing Harry's own - somehow warm and cold at the same time, both real and not there at all - keeping his fingers wrapped tight around his wand. "It's almost time."

"Time for what?" Harry asked. Time for him to die? Were they here to take him with them? Or-

"Are you ready?" Lily's eyes were on the sky and Harry followed her gaze. Then, voice sharp and soft all at once, she said, "James."

James grinned at Harry, half-stood, bowing into his animagus form. He lowered his huge, antlered head and charged toward Voldemort.

"Now, sweetheart," Lily said, and Harry's eyes went back to the sky, to where she was looking. Glowing around the edges the same soft gold and green as Lily herself, was a tiny hole in the thick wards. Harry didn't know whether she'd put it there or was just helping him see it, didn't know what would happen to them once he broke the connection, just knew that this would be the only chance he had.

He yanked his wand to the side, snapping the golden thread, and spun on the spot.